


A Better Fate than Wisdom: About a Secret

by Leandra



Series: A Better Fate than Wisdom [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Almost Kissing, Beltane, Drunken Shenanigans, Finger Sucking, M/M, drunk!arthur, merthurkissfest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:06:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21934189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leandra/pseuds/Leandra
Summary: In which Arthur is drunk, Merlin is inconvenienced and secrets are kept, but barely.The first part in a four-part series for the Merlin/Arthur Kiss Fest 2019. Each part will feature a different season, a different set of kisses and at least one trope :-)Series Title comes from the e.e.cummings poem "since feeling is first": and kisses are a better fate than wisdom.MERRY XMAS!!!
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: A Better Fate than Wisdom [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1579525
Comments: 22
Kudos: 341
Collections: The Merlin/Arthur Kiss Fest 2019





	A Better Fate than Wisdom: About a Secret

**Author's Note:**

> Since they celebrated Samhain on the show, it felt right to have them celebrate Beltane as well. I took the liberty to imagine Beltane by describing several Celtic and European spring festival traditions and customs. 
> 
> Thanks to my beta raina_at! :-)

Beltane was one of Merlin’s favorite celebrations and had been since he had been a wee child. It was a feast of sharing and the celebration was joyous and filled with optimism for the hopefully fruitful time ahead. The last remnants of winter were banished with a noisy procession and the warmer season welcomed with food and drink aplenty. The weather usually turned from dreary to vaguely pleasant around the spring equinox, before a last show of winter’s strength came with a bit of frost just before Beltane. Just as quickly as the frost arrived it left again and Merlin liked to think it was because the people built bonfires to drive the cold winter away for good.

In Camelot, contrary to the winter festivities, which were a small affair, often held in the castle’s banquet hall and including merely the royal household and visiting guests, Beltane was a feast for the common people just as much as for royalty. 

While usually the gates to the castle where closed at night, at Beltane the gates were kept wide open to allow the people of the lower town entrance into the big courtyard. For days, the castle’s kitchen had prepared food and the smell of freshly baked bread, steaming potage and roasted boar saturated the air. Alongside the cloisters, stalls had been erected where serving staff handed out meat pies and pastries filled with leavy spring greens, dried fruit and fresh cheese. The town’s people brought their own cups and spiced wine was poured generously and freely. 

The lightning of the bonfire in the castle’s courtyard was a ceremonial task for the king and later, in the evening, when the fire had almost died down, the town’s people would light an oil lamp from the bonfire to take home as a blessing for the season ahead. 

It was Merlin’s third Beltane in Camelot and he was still awed by how the feast was so much more exuberant than the ones he remembered from back home in Ealdor, where the sparseness of food usually meant that Beltane was a much more sober affair. A lot of the joyousness was probably attributable to the generosity of Uther, who knew how to get into the good graces of his people with free food and plenty to drink. 

Around Merlin, people milled with tankards and cups in their hands, laughing, eating, shouting, dancing and clapping to the boisterous and merry music provided by the court musicians. Children had dragged away logs from the fire and were running around them, screaming with laughter and a group of older boys were egging each other on, daring each other to jump over the roaring flames. The atmosphere was jaunty and turning more so, the more the people drank. 

Smiling, Merlin watched a young man who clearly already had too much to drink stumble over his own two feet and land in a group of girls, who all squaked in indignation, but helped the poor sod up anyway. He wasn’t too drunk to make a bawdry comment, and the girls tittered in fake outrage, giggling among themselves when he returned to his companions, who laughed and clapped his back. Soon, Merlin thought, couples would sneak off towards the cloisters or stables for a quick tumble in the dark, drunk with wine and giddy with good food and celebration. Tomorrow, he and Gaius would be in heavy demand, giving out remedies against all kinds of drunken mistakes. 

Merlin could feel the effect of the wine as well, and he decided that he had had enough. He didn’t want to run around the castle tomorrow with a headache and an upset stomach himself. 

Someone clapped a heavy hand onto his shoulder, and he jumped for a moment, before the familiar presence of Arthur at this right side registered and he allowed himself to relax. 

“Enjoying yourself, Merlin?” he asked, leaning a bit too heavily on Merlin’s shoulder, his breath warm and scented with wine where it gusted over the side of Merlin’s neck and face. 

“I am,” Merlin said, amused by the slight slur in Arthur’s voice. He turned his head, sending a cheeky grin at the prince. “As do you, gathering from how you can barely keep upright, my lord.”

Arthur barked a laugh, his eyes sparkling in the firelight. “Why does it always sound so… in...insus… insub-or-di-nate “ - he stumbled over the word -” when you call me that?” His fingers tightened on Merlin’s shoulder, digging into the long, tight muscle just above Merlin’s clavicle as he steadied himself a bit. 

Merlin swayed with him, just to rebalance them both. “You love it,” Merlin answered cheekily, rolling his eyes at Arthur fondly. 

Arthur laughed again and finally gave up the fight of pretending he could still stand perfectly well on his own, his arm slipping around Merlin’s neck as he sagged against his side. “Oops..” he said, a sound that was almost a giggle escaping his lips. 

“I def..definitely had too much to drink,” Arthur slurred into the side of Merlin’s neck. “It’s… all those town girls, bringing me more wine and … and…. throwing themselves at me… It’s so sodding exhausting.” 

It was Merlin’s turn to laugh. “Poor you,” he said mockingly, “it’s an outrage that all those girls are interested in you. Whatever will you do?” 

Arthur attempted to straighten himself somewhat and raised his cup towards his mouth, spilling a bit of wine in the process. “You don’t understand… “ he muttered darkly, raising the cup to his lips and taking a deep drink, “if they beget a royal bastard,... they and their families will be grandly ...compensated.” 

“Oh... ,” Merlin said, blinking. “Oh. I .. I hadn’t thought of that.” 

“... Yes, … so every craftsman is inviting me for drinks and then they send their daughters after me. Like a hunt. It’s… “ Arthur shook his head and mumbled something sour and unintelligible into his cup as he took another drink. 

Merlin snorted, as the image of Arthur being chased by a gaggle of girls around the bonfire rose in his mind. 

“It’s not… not funny,” Arthur growled, cuffing Merlin over the head in a surprising show of agility and accuracy, considering the general unstableness of the rest of his body. 

“It so is,” protested Merlin, grinning, before taking a sip from his own - mostly drained - cup. “You are afraid of girls. It’s perfectly funny.” 

Obviously too tired or too drunk to protest, Arthur sighed and leaned even more heavily on Merlin, who staggered a bit under his weight. 

“Uff,” Merlin huffed, shoving Arthur off a bit, “you have to stop eating like a pig, you’re getting fat again. No more confit goose for you. Sire.” 

Arthur swayed for a moment, spurred on by outrage, spilling most of his cup, which considering that he really should stop drinking was just fine, before colliding once more with Merlin’s right side, making them both stumble. “You did it .. again!” he hissed. “You say something insolent for which I should rightfully send you to the stocks … to be pelted with rotten fruit and disgusting … kitchen waste… for days and days.. And days… “ he trailed off for a moment, his eyes briefly glazing over, and Merlin wasn’t sure if the rest of the sentence was coming or not, but just when he wanted to tease Arthur about it, he continued, “... and then you tack on a title, as if that made it any less … less…. less like an… an…” There was a pause and Merlin turned his head to observe Arthur fighting for words, unable to keep the smirk from tugging at his lips, and Arthur, catching his amused expression, huffed out an angry breath, “ - oh you know what I mean, you idiot.” 

Merlin bit his lip, his heart swelling with fondness, aching in his chest as if it wanted to burst out of it and he was incredibly glad that it was dark and Arthur was drunk, because he was sure that his face must be showing his feelings, his utter adoration of the man just now making a drunken fool of himself. 

“Stop grinning,” Arthur muttered petulantly, “you look like the village imbecile. Go fetch me more wine.” 

Merlin laughed. “Oh no, I will do no such thing.” He shifted and carefully placed an arm around Arthur, who was sagging even more heavily against his side. “My lord,” he said with purpose, unable to keep the laughter from his voice. 

“It’s a princely order or the stocks for you, you miserable excuse for a manservant.”

“That was rather eloquent, but still - I think you’ve had enough,” Merlin said, putting his empty cup on a nearby serving table before taking the one which Arthur was still holding loosely and draining it in one go. 

Arthur growled. “I can’t believe you just did this. You-” he interrupted himself with a sound that was almost, but not, a squeak, followed by a dark curse. “Bollocks! Merlin, you must help me.” 

Merlin followed Arthur’s wide eyed gaze to a group of three girls, who were coming towards them, talking excitedly among themselves. “They’re teaming up. Probably splitting up the hush money -” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Merlin huffed, but gripped Arthur tighter and turned them around, dragging him towards the direction of the stairs. 

“You need to go to bed, you dollophead, and sleep off all that wine,” he said, steering them through a thong of dancing people and into the cloisters, where it was cool and less crowded. They stumbled along, Arthur’s feet not really cooperating. 

“You’re so heavy…” Merlin complained, shifting and taking more of Arthur’s weight, so they wouldn’t fall. 

“Pack on some muscle, then,” Arthur shot back and tried to cuff Merlin’s ear. His abrupt movement made them both stumble and they fell into an alcove, Merlin’s back colliding painfully with a pillar as Arthur crashed into him, knocking the wind from his lungs. 

“Owwwww,” he moaned, sucking in a breath of much needed air. 

Arthur chuckled where he had dropped his head onto Merlin’s shoulder, his hair tickling the side of Merlin’s neck, then attempted to straighten himself, toppling over again, his arms flailing and reaching for purchase, fingers clawing at Merlin’s clothes. The weight of Arthur’s grip tugged Merlin’s tunic down, the fabric cutting painfully into the soft skin of his neck. Arthur’s fingers dug painfully into Merlin’s belly, his other hand gripped his hipbone through the cotton of his loose trousers. 

Merlin sucked in another desperate breath, but this one had much more to do with the fact that Arthur was close, too close, his breath warm on Merlin’s face and his hands touching him in places much more intimate than a shoulder or his back or the quick ruffle of hair Arthur enjoyed bestowing on Merlin in moments of playful camaraderie. 

Arthur wasn’t moving, just staring somewhat sluggish at Merlin, his fingers still tight on where he was holding on to Merlin. Merlin watched Arthur’s eyelashes flutter, his unfocused gaze dropping down and realized with a hitch of his breath, that Arthur was staring at his mouth. Unconsciously, he licked his lips, hissing when Arthur’s nails dug into the skin of his hipbone in response. Arthur exhaled a shaky gust of breath, but he didn’t budge and his eyes were half-masted. 

Merlin knew he should stop this, whatever it was, because Arthur was drunk and not in his right mind, and he himself didn’t even know what was even happening, but he couldn’t move either, his body feeling heavy and heated and slow with sudden want. Arthur’s weight against him - so annoying, familiar and exhausting earlier - was perfect and exciting. The air felt charged with something important, something world-shattering. Merlin licked his lips again, saw Arthur’s eyes drop close and his head tilt and Merlin’s heart sped up, fluttering in his chest like a nervous bird beating its wings, the moment suspended in anticipation of what was to come. His eyelids felt heavy and he gave in and let them drop shut. Blood was drumming in his ears and rushing towards his groin and he felt lightheaded and floaty. Arthur exhaled against him, so close now that Merlin could almost feel his lips brushing against his. 

The sound of passing steps and girlish laughter made them fly apart and Merlin, who had obviously held his breath because he was winded again, took a couple of sharp, hiccuping inhales that were incredibly noisy, louder even than the mad pounding of his heart. 

Next to him, Arthur was hunched forward, hands on his knees, head hanging low as he breathed deeply himself. 

Another set of quick steps came up the cloister, heavy boots echoing and a man called out a girl’s name. When he passed them, he only spared them a brief glance, before ducking his head into the next alcove, clearly searching his tryst for the evening. 

Merlin took a measured breath and reached for Arthur’s arm. “You need sleep, Sire,” he said, his voice shaky. “You are very drunk.” 

Arthur looked up at him, his face strangely pale in the shadows of the cloisters. “Right,” he said, sounding dumbstruck and numb and much less intoxicated than earlier. 

Merlin carefully helped Arthur straighten himself, but kept his distance, assisting him only with a hand steadying his arm. They made their slow, slightly wobbly walk through the cloisters and into the castle, Merlin steadfastly ignoring the unsteady, too frantic beat of his heart or the insistent heat licking up and down his spine. He willed his trembling knees to carry him on.

*-* 

It helped that Arthur’s newfound sobriety was deteriorating the closer they got to his chambers. Arthur was once more holding onto him with an iron grip, his feet barely able to keep him upright. Merlin had to carefully lean him against the wall to open the door to his chambers, then, with the last threads of strength, maneuvered him inside. The way towards the bed seemed incredibly far and he just so managed to drag Arthur the last couple of steps, before depositing him unceremoniously on his bed. The mattress pounced, and Arthur groaned, reaching for his head. 

“Serves you well,” Merlin huffed, kneeling down and starting to drag Arthur’s boots off. “Drinking so much that you inconvenience me like that.” He wasn’t himself sure if he meant the discomfort of needing to practically carry Arthur to his chambers or the bother of almost kissing in the cloisters. The thought made him pause, because it seemed so absurd and outlandish and he wondered if maybe he was so drunk he had just imagined that moment back just then, imagined Arthur’s hands gripping him so tightly and his mouth coming closer… 

“You are such a clotpole…” he muttered, tossing Arthur’s boots carelessly to the floor. From the bed, Arthur just groaned in what sounded like agreement. 

“And now I have to undress you, too. This is unjust punishment and should be prohibited. By the king…. Which, if he knew what nearly happened, he probably would,” he tacked on snottily, not knowing how much Arthur remembered, but uncaring. He could always write his words off as something Arthur had perceived falsely in his drunkenness. He had gotten away with worse in the past, and a good knock to the head usually convinced Arthur, that whatever memories were fluttering in his head, they weren’t worth the headache for.

He stepped to Arthur’s bedside and tried to maneuver him so that he could get his heavy jacket off, but Arthur was barely conscious and not really cooperating. When Merlin tried to turn him to his side to slide the jacket from his arm, Arthur twisted, making Merlin stumble forward and land on the bed with one knee, just so missing Arthur’s kidney and preventing a painful injury. 

“Oh come on,” Merlin muttered, trying to steady himself with a hand on Arthur’s pillow as he leaned over him, regaining his balance. 

Just when he was about to straighten again, Arthur’s hand came up, cupping the right side of his face, thumb pressing against his cheekbone. Merlin froze, looking down at where Arthur was staring up at him with wide blue eyes. 

His stupid breath was speeding up again, heart hammering, and all his need came crashing back down again. 

“This is just cruel,” Merlin said to no one in particular, maybe the fates, because Arthur didn’t answer, but his thumb started stroking, then slipped down towards his mouth where he pressed against the seam of his lips, pulling gently at Merlin’s bottom lip. 

“You have the most beautiful lips,” Arthur said, sounding wondrous - and very, very soused, because he was talking nonsense and touching Merlin in a highly inappropriate way. 

Merlin’s mouth fell open on a breath and Arthur’s thumb slipped into his mouth, sliding over his tongue and his gums, poking the inside of his cheek as if he wanted to explore that part of Merlin for what it was worth. 

Merlin groaned and swallowed against the finger invading his mouth, tasting salty bitterness and the sweet earthiness of skin. It probably shouldn’t have felt good, because Arthur’s fingers were roaming around with as much finesse as if he performed a dental examination. Nonetheless,  
desire was coursing through him, making him lightheaded. He wanted nothing more than to suck on Arthur’s fingers, because he was sure he could find his pleasure like that, just from having Arthur’s fingers stroking the inside of his mouth, but it was Arthur and he was drunk and this was all madness. 

With regret he pulled back, letting Arthur’s fingers slip from his mouth. Arthur’s hand fell towards the covers bonelessly and Merlin sighed in sorrowful relief when he saw Arthur’s eyes had fallen close. Just a moment later, Arthur’s slow, even breaths filled the space between them. 

“Of course,” Merlin whispered, slightly resentful. “Of course you fall asleep. You always know your way out.” 

He finally pulled himself up, then looked down at Arthur’s prone form, sprawled comfortable on the bed, oblivious to Merlin’s relieved annoyance. There was no way he could undress Arthur now, so the prince would just have to sleep in his clothes. Merlin pulled the second set of covers, the ones who had been pulled down earlier this evening for Arthur to bed down up over Arthur’s body until he was half-way covered and no night-chill would disturb his sleep. 

Arthur looked young and untroubled in his sleep and Merlin was jealous, because he knew sleep would be a long time coming for him tonight. He leaned forward, pushing a dirty blond strand of hair from Arthur’s forehead, before leaning down. 

He pressed a kiss there, just below Arthur’s hair on his temple, a small, secret thing, stealing something which earlier tonight had almost been rightfully his. 

When he straightened, Arthur hadn’t miraculously woken, he hadn’t even stirred. 

It was better this way, Merlin thought. Arthur wouldn’t remember tomorrow morning, and Merlin could harbour this secret, but it in a box and keep it hidden, just like all the other secrets he was already keeping. Because, what was one more secret, really?

The End - for now.

[Find me on tumblr here: https://nuttersinc.tumblr.com/](https://nuttersinc.tumblr.com/)


End file.
